


oh well, wasn't me

by Impala_Chick



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Presumed Dead, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 17:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17605331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Chick/pseuds/Impala_Chick
Summary: All he could feel was the anger; anger towards all of the paratroopers who had died on that plane, anger at himself for making it out alive. He felt it all simmering inside him like a fire in a wood stove, boiling his guts from the inside out. He wondered if there was a way to make the flames burn faster, a way to make them engulf him until he was nothing but ashes. He thought maybe whiskey could do that. He found the bottle and uncorked it, ready to find out.Or, Nixon makes it back from his jump inWhy We Fightbut Winters was told Nixon wasn't coming back.





	oh well, wasn't me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kunstvogel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kunstvogel/gifts).



> I started this for fandom_stocking, and it kind of turned into a self-indulgent rewrite of that scene in _Why We Fight_ , with way too many fire metaphors. Hope you like it anyway :)

Lew got off the jeep and walked into the building that had been set aside for the officers, intent on getting something to drink.

All he could feel was the anger; anger towards all of the paratroopers who had died on that plane, anger at himself for making it out alive. He felt it all simmering inside him like a fire in a wood stove, boiling his guts from the inside out. He wondered if there was a way to make the flames burn faster, a way to make them engulf him until he was nothing but ashes. He thought maybe whiskey could do that. He found the bottle and uncorked it, ready to find out.

Once he poured himself a glass twice over, he threw off his jacket and tried to look in the mirror. His body felt so warm that he half expected to see flames rising up out of his pupils. But instead, the coldness of his stare surprised him, and he had to glance away. 

“Who’s there?” 

It was Dick, had to be. He’d know that voice anywhere.

“It’s just me,” Lew called out as he stepped away from the mirror and moved towards the bed. The sound of boots hitting the wood floor indicated that Dick was making his way into the room. Lew was too busy pouring himself another drink to look up when Dick entered.

“Lew?” Dick’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper. But the force with which he said it nearly knocked Lew off his feet. He slumped down on to the bed and slipped his arms out of his suspenders, afraid to look at Dick at first for fear he’d see the flames threatening to burst from Lew’s chest.

He sighed upon reconsideration, and ventured a look over his shoulder, selfishly hoping that Dick might be able to help him. The sight of Dick’s face was even more devastating than the sound of his voice had been. He was pale, his eyes wide with awe, maybe a touch of reverence. His arms were outstretched, palms pointed up towards the sky, ready to embrace Lew. 

Lew recoiled. He couldn’t help it.

“What?” Lew said as he turned away, already berating himself for the gruffness of his tone. But he could still smell the smoke in the air, could still hear the screams of the soldiers who hadn’t made it out of the plane, could still taste ash and dirt in his mouth.

He didn’t deserve to be touched.

He glanced over his shoulder at Dick again, debating whether to offer some sort of explanation. Dick’s face was still open, reverent. He’d lowered his arms, but he’d taken a step towards Lew, like he wanted to get to him. His mouth was slack, his lips slightly parted, and Lew’s gaze lingered there instead of on Dick's eyes. It was almost overwhelming, the way Dick was staring at him. Lew didn’t know what that look was supposed to mean, but he didn’t look away like he had before.

“They told me your plane was hit,” Dick explained, his voice rough. He took another step forward.

“Oh yeah? Well, fun fact. It was.” Dick had thought him dead. That’s what this was about. Lew got up to get his drink, not even sure if his legs would hold his weight. He kept his back to Dick, but he could hear his boots against the wood floor, advancing. 

He took a gulp and stared out the window, heat simmering just under his skin. He wondered, not for the first time, why. Why him? It was an exercise in futility to ask that, but Lew seemed to be good at futility recently. He took another sip, stoking the flames that seemed to be climbing up into his throat.

He heard Dick take another step, but Dick didn’t say anything. 

“Two others got out. Everyone else blew up over Germany somewhere. Oh well, wasn’t me,” Lew said, his voice hollow. He took a breath and turned around, certain his terrifyingly cold gaze would shock Dick, make him turn away. But he advanced another step instead of retreating. Lew noticed the way he was rubbing his palms on his thighs, like he was nervous. 

“I’m sorry,” Dick said gently, like he was trying to sooth a wild animal. 

“Not your fault,” Lew huffed, annoyed at Dick’s ability to remain stoic. “The real tragedy is that their CO died, too. Now I have to write the letters home. What do I say to their parents?” 

Lew turned around and realized that Dick was _right there_. Right in front of him. His eyes still soft, his mouth still slack. He was looking at Lew sadly now, like he was a fragile thing that could break at any moment.

He reached out and wrapped his hand around the glass Lew was holding. Lew held his breath, afraid to move.

“Lew. Just. Let’s just take a minute,” Dick coaxed. He carefully peeled Lew’s fingers from the glass and placed it on the table to Lew’s right, and then he reached out again. Lew watched as Dick slid his fingers over Lew’s hand until he was holding his wrist, his thumb rubbing circles against Lew’s pulse point. Dick’s fingers felt cool against Lew’s skin.

He looked up to see Dick gently smiling now, his eyes still sad. Lew wanted to pull away, afraid that if Dick kept touching him, he’d be swallowed up by Lew’s flames. But he felt his body start to shake, and he couldn’t keep himself upright anymore. Lew slumped backwards, grateful for the couch beneath the window and for Dick’s hand on him, steadying him. He breathed in.

Dick followed him down, and Lew let his eyes drift closed. But all he saw were burning planes falling from the sky, so he opened them again. He would have sipped his drink, except then he remembered that Dick had taken his glass. So he looked down at his hand, still held steady by Dick’s own, and focused on breathing instead.

Dick was still rubbing circles along Lew’s wrist, soothing him. Dick’s fingers where calloused and rough, and Lew could feel each time his skin caught against Lew’s, throwing off the rhythm of Dick’s movements. But Dick’s skin was cool to the touch, and Lew selfishly turned towards Dick, hoping he’d continue. Dick obliged, and reached out with his other hand to take hold of Lew’s right, and Lew exhaled shakily, grateful that Dick understood without Lew having to ask. 

Their fingers slotted together easily, and then Dick squeezed his hand a few times, a reassuring gesture that was almost too sweet to bear. Lew felt sure that Dick was going to feel the heat emanating from Lew’s palm and pull away. The were so close that maybe Dick would be able to smell the ashes and the burnt flesh, smells that had surely permeated Lew’s skin by now.

Better to protect Dick and let himself be burned, alone. He had to do something. “I don’t want you to burn up,” Lew said dumbly. 

“I don’t want you to burn up either,” Dick said gently, his gaze unwavering. Dick’s hands were still cool and reassuring where they pressed against Lew’s skin.

“Okay,” Lew breathed. “Okay.” 

He let himself relax against the couch, and as Dick held his hands, he felt the flames subside.

**Author's Note:**

> Since I'm still getting my Winnix legs under me, concrit is okay. Just no bashing, please :)


End file.
